Manufactured Catalyst
by FatesFolly
Summary: When a complicated case forces the CSI team to call in a criminalist with a speciality in criminal psychology, this stranger uncovers just as much about the team as the crime and forces them to re-evaluate relationships.
1. A Hole in the World

**Title**: Manufactured Catalyst

**Author**: FatesFolly

**Summary**: When a complicated case forces the CSI team to call in a criminalist with a speciality in criminal psychology, this stranger uncovers just as much about the team as the crime and forces them to re-evaluate relationships. (Casefile with eventual romance.)

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing (aside from Charlie and this plot). I just innocently borrow with good intent to return physically unharmed. (Mentally unharmed I can't guarantee.)

**A/N**: Since this plot is a bit AU, I'm going to say that it takes place between "What's Eating Gilbert Grissom" and "Formalities", leaving the team still together, Greg still needing to pass his final proficiency and Grissom's "guys who got away but I eventually caught" tally at two for two.

* * *

**Chapter 1 - A Hole in the World**

There's no such thing as the perfect crime. That's what Gil Grissom was thinking as he sat in his office, staring at the same set of case files that he'd been pouring over with a fine-tooth comb for the past two weeks. Every criminal left behind some evidence: a drop of blood, a minuscule fiber, a single flake of skin that identified them as who and what they were. More important, the evidence never lied. All you needed to do was find it. Naturally, that was often easier said than done, but this was almost to the point of being ridiculous. Two weeks, three murders, all unsolved. The grizzly nature of the homicides and the fact that all of the victims where prostitutes was causing the media to give the murderer the title "The New Ripper". Splashy headlines reading "Jack is Back" and "Ripper Strikes Vegas" were plastered on the front pages of newspaper and solemn-faced newscasters droned monotonously about the dangerous new criminal that continued to elude Las Vegas' finest.

A sudden knock on the door to his office caused Grissom to look up from the autopsy result he had been studying. The form of Detective Jim Brass was standing in the doorway, holding a thin manila folder. "Am I interrupting?", Brass questioned, raising an eyebrow at Grissom's intense expression.

"Well that depends." Grissom replied, adjusting his glasses.

"On what?" Brass held the file out slightly, offering it to the other man, almost hesitantly.

"On whether or not that file has any new information on our mystery killer." Grissom's voice was calm, although it held the slightest hit of the strain that the entire team was feeling.

"It has something that should help your investigation." Nodding with satisfaction as the proffered file was taken and slowly paged through, Brass continued. "I took the liberty of calling an old colleague of mine from New Jersey. I remembered him mentioning a criminalist with a speciality in criminal psychology last time I talked to him, and thought that might be useful with this 'Ripper' case."

"Now just a minute. My team is totally capable of uncovering the evidence on our own without any outside help." Grissom narrowed his eyes, although his natural curiosity got the better of him and he opened the file, angrily leafing through it.

"I figured you'd say that. But just look at some of those credentials. Pretty impressive." A smug smile played on Brass' lips as he watch Grissom's expression subtly change as he read some of the papers. "If nothing else, it would be a fresh pair of eyes."

"And the Camden Police department is just going to lend this Charlie Kennard to us?", Grissom asked apprehensively.

"If you'll look, it won't be the first time Charlie has worked for another city. Pretty impressive career for only being on the force six years."

"So when can this Charlie get here? I'll assume that it will be at least 24 hours? During which, might I add, we could find the piece of evidence that will solve this case." Grissom's voice continued to be doubtful, obviously still not totally convinced.

"Actually, Chuck booked a flight as soon as I called about this. Seems that this case is of particular interest. Your new criminal psychologist should be here in about 4 hours." Brass' face now had a slightly smug smirk on it.

"Well, good to know 'Chuck' is enthusiastic." Grissom stood up from his desk brushing past Brass as he made his way out of his office. "I should tell the rest of the team to be expecting a new member..." Turning back around for a moment, he quirked a brow at Brass. "And I'd think you'd know better by now thank to buy into the media hype about 'the Ripper'." Without another word, Gil Grissom strode confidently down the hall.

"I can't believe that Grissom is just letting some criminalist from New Jersey onto this caseཀ" Catherine Willows was visibly enraged, standing up angrily from her seat at the break room table. "Does he not trust us? I mean, this is our caseཀ"

"Calm down Catherine." Nick Stokes said in his casual southern drawl. "I'm sure Grissom trusts us. Like he said, this is just another pair of eyes. Probably just background noise just so that we can say that we're doin' everything that we can."

"I don't know man...this Charlie guy could be a real trip. I mean, a psychiatrist... That's a whole different methodology we're talking about." Warrick Brown shook his head a few times. "I gotta go with Catherine on this one."

"I trust Grissom. If he thinks that this guy can help us, then maybe he can. And if he's too cocky, then this case should knock him down a few pegs." Sarah Sidle give a slight shrug of her shoulders, although her eyes were flashing with traces of doubt and annoyance.

"What I want to know is why we need someone from New Jersey. That's the armpit of America. I mean, aren't there enough brain docs here in Nevada?" Greg Sanders looked up from a book he was reading in preparation for his final proficiency test.

"An' why do we need a DNA analyst turned CSI from California G?", Nick countered, chuckling.

"Touche." Greg replied, holding up a finger to illustrate his point.

Nervous laughter erupted through the group, obviously a much-needed break in the thick layer of tension that had settled since the case started. However, the mirthful sound quickly ended as a sharp wrapping was hear on the door to the break room. Catherine, still standing, was the first to go and open the door. However, Nick was the first to greet the figure standing in the doorway.

She was short, only about 5'2", and rather slim, although it was hard to tell with her choice in clothing. She was wearing a black blazer and matching knee-length skirt, although rather than a dress blouse and pumps that would have completed the professional look, she was wearing a black "Led Zeppelin" tee-shirt and cherry-red high-top Chuck Taylors. Her hair was dark auburn color, wavy and a little past her shoulders, falling into her eyes which were framed in a pair of neon-green, cats-eye glasses. Chewing on her bottom lip, she had one hand on a battered black messenger bag which was sling over her shoulder and obviously filled to capacity. Her grey-green eyes darted from side to side nervously, although she remained facing straight ahead.

"Hi there, can I help ya?", Nick asked, his naturally friendly demeanor shining through.

"Are you Doctor Gilbert Grissom?", the woman asked, her voice edgy yet monotonous.

"Uh, no. Nick Stokes, Las Vegas Crime Lab. Actually, Grissom is a bit busy right now...ya can leave anything ya need to deliver to him at the front desk." Nick held out his hand in greeting, at the same time gesturing to the desk at the main entrance to the building.

Totally ignoring the proffered hand, the woman looked Nick in the eyes. "No. I need to speak with Doctor Grissom personally."

"He's actually waitin' for someone right now. If ya need to make a report, ya can do that at the front desk as well. Or ya can talk to one of us." Nick offered the woman a warm smile, not seeming to be put-off by her brash mannerisms. After all, a lot of victims were often rude when dealing with police. And if she was here to deliver some new specimen of insect...well...a little spunk was more than expected.

"You don't understand. I NEED to speak with Doctor Grissom RIGHT NOW." The woman's eyes never left Nick's. "I need to deliver several things to him and file more than a few reports. I also need to get started with...well, I can't even begin to list everything that I need to get started with." She glanced down at her watch, a well worn digital purple Timex with more buttons that most alarm clocks. "I'm already twenty-seven minutes behind schedule. And I even factored in an extra hour and forty-three minutes for the flight down from Jersey..."

"Wait, wait." Catherine held up her hand, walking over to the other woman. "Did you say 'Jersey'?" A look of slight confusion combined with sudden understanding crossed her pretty features. However, before she was able to continue, another figure appeared in the doorway.

"I see you've met Charlie Kennard." Grissom's expression could only be described as knowing smugness. Looking between the obviously flustered though fairly placid, newcomer and the rest of the team, he continued, "Charlie, this is Nick Stokes, Catherine Willows, Warrick Brown, Sara Sidle and Greg Sanders, my team." He pointed to each team member in turn as he introduced them. "Everyone, I'd like to introduce you to Charlie Kennard."

Giving everyone a curt nod in greeting, Charlie turned to Grissom. "Doctor Grissom, I'm now thirty-one minutes behind schedule. I'd really like to get started as soon as possible." Face still fairly void of emotion, she gestured to a cooler outside of the door. "And I have a few things that I need refrigerated."

"Food?", Greg asked, absently leafing through the large book in his lap.

Turning around casually, Charlie replied in her edgy, monotonous tone, "It's the frontal lobe of a Cebus albifrons. Essentially, a monkey brain."

The silence that followed was deafening.

* * *

A/N:_ Okay, first fanfic. Hope that I have the characters down enough to make this believable. Don't worry, there won't be any romance between Charlie and any of the characters. She's just a carefully crafted plot device. She was created before Aisha Taylor's character Mia Dickerson was introduced into the series, so any similarities are just proof that great minds think alike. Or something._

_(Also, some minor changes have been made from the original posting. So this is version 1.1)_


	2. Time Consumer

**Title**: Manufactured Catalyst

**Author**: FatesFolly

**Summary**: When a complicated case forces the CSI team to call in a criminalist with a speciality in criminal psychology, this stranger uncovers just as much about the team as the crime and forces them to re-evaluate relationships. (Casefile with eventual romance.)

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing (aside from Charlie and this plot). I just innocently borrow with good intent to return physically unharmed. (Mentally unharmed I can't guarantee.)

**A/N**: Since this plot is a bit AU, I'm going to say that it takes place between "What's Eating Gilbert Grissom" and "Formalities", leaving the team still together, Greg still needing to pass his final proficiency and Grissom's "guys who got away but I eventually caught" tally at two for two.

* * *

**Chapter 2 - Time Consumer**

It had been 36 hours . . . no, make that 37 hours and 21 minutes, since Charlie Kennard arrived in the lab. Nick laughed silently to himself as he thought about the woman who was busy pouring over autopsy results and examining a body on the table next to him and Doc Robbins. In that time, she had been a fairly unobtrusive presence. Charlie, her files, laptop and her, as Nick liked to think of it, dead dissected menagerie, had been moved into a small out-of-the-way office that's measurement more closely matched those of a glorified closet. However, she had no complaints about the size, and if she did, they were carefully hidden behind the detached expression on her face and the monotonous yet strangely compelling tone of her voice.

Charlie hadn't said much of anything to anyone to Nick's knowledge. In the first hour, she had familiarized herself with the lab and its layout, negating any need for further inquires on that subject. Occasionally, she would walk up behind one of the team in a disturbingly quiet manner, clearing her throat to announce her presence. Before you even had a chance to turn fully around, she would begin a rapid-fire succession of three or four questions concerning the case, only to respond to the answers with a soft "Mmm-hmm" and a curt nod of her head, seemingly in thanks. Without another word, she would spin on her heels and stride off in the opposite direction.

Snapping back to reality after a comment from Doc Robbins about the body on the table, Nick scanned over the toxicology report. "So it does look like an accidental OD. Damn, I guess we can't get 'em on anything other than criminal negligence." Nick shook his head sadly as he eyed the body of the elderly man on the autopsy table.

Doc Robbins gave a grave nod, sighing heavily. "Sorry Nick, wish I could give you more."

"No problem Doc.", Nick replied, giving the older man a friendly pat on the shoulder. "At least we can get the care-givers on that much." The sound the door to the morgue caused both Nick and the doctor to turn their head, catching the faintest glimpse of a small figure walking out of the room.

"She's a quiet one." Doc commented with a small laugh. "Do you know if she's found anything out yet? She's been in here a few times to retrieve autopsy results and ask me questions about the bodies. Actually, less 'asked' and more 'interrogated' . . . "

Nick chuckled. "Yeah, she has a way of doin' that." He continued to watch the door, "If she's found anything out, I haven't heard about it. Actually, if we're done here, I was gonna go talk to her about the case. I'm gettin' curious about it myself."

"No problem. I don't think this fellow is going to be saying anything else." Doc turned from Nick and proceeded to begin stitching up the corpse.

"Thanks again Doc, I'll give these to Sara.", Nick held up a few papers as he walked out the door to the morgue. Throwing a quick look behind him just to ensure that Charlie wasn't already looking for him, he started for the makeshift office.

Once he reached the small room, Nick noticed that the door was already opened slightly. However, he still politely knocked out of common courtesy. Upon receiving no response, Nick peered though the small opening. Seeing Charlie seated at her desk, writing furiously as she looked between autopsy photos and a yellow legal pad, Nick knocked again, this time harder. This garnered a response, but not the one he expected.

"You see the door is open, but you knock. Then you look into the office, see that I'm present, and proceed to knock again." Charlie looked up from her notes, a slightly annoyed expression on her face. "You want to know what I've found out but you're afraid to ask because you feel that you'll either be overstepping your boundaries since if I had found something out, I would have probably reported it to your superiors already. Or that you'll be pressuring me, causing my work to become inconsistent." Her voice was as edgy and monotonous as usual, but there was a hint of amusement in it. "You can come in by the way. That's why the door was open."

"Ya caught me." Nick said sheepishly as he walked into the office, making sure to return the door back to its original position behind him. "Oh, and, uh, about the other day ... sorry. I didn't realize who you were. Anyway, welcome to Las Vegas." Throwing Charlie his usual charming grin, Nick maneuvered his way around the cramped room so that he wasn't blocking the door.

"Why were you the first to greet me? Catherine was closer to the door, but you were the first to approach me." Looking back down at her notes, Charlie began to write again, turning to a clean page.

"Southern hospitality I guess. My parents always taught me..."

"Would your reaction have been different if I were male?" Never looking up from her paper, Charlie's expression was unreadable as she cut Nick off mid sentence.

Nick flinched inwardly, sensing a lecture about gender discrimination about to be unfurled. But when Charlie remained silent, Nick tentatively spoke again, "Honestly, I dunno." He looked the woman up and down, noting that her clothing was still a strange mixture of professional office-worker and concert-going teenager. Today it was a grey dress-shirt with a tan and olive plaid tie, a somewhat-matching knee-length plaid skirt and of course, the staple red chucks, purple watch and lime-green glasses. He hadn't though it possible, but there actually was someone who could give Greg a run for his money when it came to clothing. A chuckle escaped him at the thought, causing Charlie to look up once more.

"I remind you of Greg, don't I?" She raised an eyebrow slightly, staring intently at Nick. For a moment, he wondered if "psychologist" was really polite slang for "psychic", but before he could comment, Charlie continued. "One of the Day-Shift members pointed out the similarities in dress already. Although it wasn't with the same fondness that you seem to hold."

Nick gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Ah, don't worry 'bout the Day-Shift. They don't understand Greggo all that well."

"Mmm hmm." Charlie tapped the top of her pen against her chin, nodding slowly. Her eyes continued to study Nick, and he felt like he had suddenly turned into some type of specimen under a microscope. "And, of course, you do. Understand Greg that is."

"Well, we are coworkers and..."

"You know, I bet that you like the whole 'Good Ol' Boy from Texas' appearance." Charlie pointed the pen at Nick now, waving it in his direction to emphasize certain words. She apparently had no qualms about interrupting people. " You probably work very hard to maintain it for your coworkers. First to help a female, warm smile, friendly banter. Classic." The almost fanatical glimmer that had begun to shin in her eyes made Nick squirm slightly. He suddenly felt very sympathetic towards any suspect who might have the misfortune of being interrogated by her.

"Hey, I'm jus' me." Nick shrugged innocently, "I don't think I could be someone else if I tried."

"Mmm Hmm." Nick was beginning to hate that sound. "I'd wager money that your last significant relationship, or, at least, the last significant relationship that you made public, was with a female who portrayed sexuality to a high degree. A model maybe. More likely a stripper or someone else in that field of employment." Without another word, Charlie turned back to her notepad, jotting down a few more notes.

Thinking of Kristy Hopkins brought back slight pangs of guilt as Nick remembered how that had ended. At the same time, curiosity overcame him. He shifted his position slightly, raising a brow in amusement. "So, what would make ya think that?"

"Then you don't deny it. Like I said...classic." Charlie's voice sounded almost bored now as she began to shuffle around photos.

"Now wait jus' a minute! What's that supposeta mean?" Nick crossed his arms over his chest, frowning as he awaited a response.

"Just what I said." Charlie glanced up at Nick, sighing softly, her expression clearly indicating that Nick was somehow missing the obvious.

"But ya didn't say ... Oh never mind." Leaning his head down slightly, Nick pinched the bridge of his nose between his right thumb and index finger and silently replayed the entire conversation back to himself. "So, what makes ya think thatcha know so much about me Charlie? We never even had a proper introduction."

"You're Nick Stokes, level three CSI, speciality hair and fiber trace. That's all the introduction that I need." Tilting her head to the side causing some of the hair in her messy ponytail came loose, Charlie shrugged nonchalantly. "Besides, knowing someone without an introduction is my job." Opening a file and retrieving another set of photographs, she studied them carefully, eyes darting from side to side behind her glasses. Glancing down at her watch, she added casually, "This has been a most enlightening three minutes and eleven seconds."

"Okay then." Nick blinked a few times trying to clear his head. "Glad that I could be of service." Holding up the papers that he had received from Doc, he added, "Anyway, I need to get these to Sara." As he headed for the door, he turn partially around, a bemused expression on his face. "Hey Charlie, humor me."

"Yes?" Charlie continued to work, not even bothering to glance upwards.

"Can ya repeat after me? 'Silk, silk, silk'." Nick tried to hide his grin, but the little mind-trick that Grissom had pulled on him years before was still something that he'd use on strangers. They always feel for it.

"Silk, silk, silk." Charlie punctuated each word with a stroke of her pen on the tablet.

"Good, now, what do cows drink?" Nick paid close attention to his tone, keeping it smooth and level.

Charlie's response came without hesitation, her tone monotonous as she continued to write. "What species of cow, what's it's diet, and what area is it being reared in?"

"Huh, dunno." Nick knew that the surprise in his voice was thinly veiled, but he couldn't help it.

"Then why would you ask? Why would you ask me a question without having all of the facts ready to present to me?" Charlie stopped writing for a moment to flip to a new page from the file and run over her notes with a florescent pink highlighter. "And that would be the reason why I haven't told anybody anything about this case yet."

"Gottcha." Flashing the woman a warm, although somewhat confused grin, Nick made his way out of the cramped office and into the hallway once more. Shaking his head as he strode through the corridor, he almost walked into Sara in his daze.

"Woah, hey Nick. Something wrong?" Sara gave her colleague a curious glance, what passed as a look of concern for her most of the time.

"No ... Not that I know of anyway. Although Charlie might." Nick forced out a chuckle, looking back to the half-opened office door.

"Something with the case? Did she figure out who our guy is yet?" Sara's eyes lit up, her voice raising an octave in excitement.

"Nah, I was jus' havin' a friendly chat with her. Although I got the vague sensation that I was talkin' and she was profilin'." Nick turned back to Sara, "Anyway, I'd say to enter at your own risk unless you're lookin' ta have your brain autopsied while it's still in your skull."

Sara's face visibly dropped in disappointment. "Geeze, I would have though that Charlie would have something by now, what with all of her credentials." She glanced at the door over her shoulder for a moment before shifting her focus back to Nick. Noticing the papers he was holding, she gestured towards them. "Oh, hey, are those the results that we were waiting for?"

"Yeah. Toxicology and autopsy results support the claims that it was accidental." Mind focusing once more on the case at hand, Nick handed the papers to Sara.

"Dammit! I thought that we'd be able to get them on more than just criminal negligence." Sara frowned heavily, gritting her teeth. "Maybe we can still find something in the evidence that Greg helped bag."

Grinning fondly at the sound of the former lab-tech's name, Nick nodded. "Yeah, at least we have enough to hold them for 24 hours. How did G do bagging it anyway?"

"Fine. If anything, he's more determined since Grissom failed him." Sara began to walk down the hall, Nick falling into step beside her. As they discussed information on the case, she made a small mental note to talk to the new criminologist.

Just then, two pagers went off. Nick and Sara exchanged glances when they saw the message, silently mouthing the word to each other, "Ripper."

* * *

A/N: _A quick glimpse into Charlie's mind, and a little bit of a cliffhanger. Sorry that this didn't push the plot much further, but I needed it to set the mood. Thanks to everyone who has left a comment, they're wonderful encouragement. The next chapter should advance the plot much better._


	3. Chasing Rainbows

**Title**: Manufactured Catalyst

**Author**: FatesFolly

**Summary**: When a complicated case forces the CSI team to call in a criminalist with a speciality in criminal psychology, this stranger uncovers just as much about the team as the crime and forces them to re-evaluate relationships. (Casefile with eventual romance.)

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing (aside from Charlie and this plot). I just innocently borrow with good intent to return physically unharmed. (Mentally unharmed I can't guarantee.)

**A/N**: Since this plot is a bit AU, I'm going to say that it takes place between "What's Eating Gilbert Grissom" and "Formalities", leaving the team still together, Greg still needing to pass his final proficiency and Grissom's "guys who got away but I eventually caught" tally at two for two.

* * *

**Chapter 3** **- Chasing Rainbows**

Here brown eyes were cold and vacant, staring into oblivion with a glassy, unblinking gaze. Head resting on her outstretched right arm, her full, pouting lips were parted slightly and blood dribbled from the corner, forming a puddle on the ground. One crimson patch merged with the others, forming a stagnant pool under her slender body, soaking the bottle-blond curls that tumbled from her scalp. Both of her palms were facing upwards, as though with her last efforts, she had been reaching for the sky. She must have been a beautiful woman.

"Lacerations to the face, chest, hips and lower abdomen. Cause of death appears to be a slash that severed all major arteries in her neck, causing her to bleed out. Rigor and lividity are set, indicating that she hasn't been moved. Liver temp puts the time of death at roughly one hour ago." The young coroner rattled off all of the facts in a few shaky breaths. "Her throat was slashed straight through to the spinal cord." Obviously disturbed at the gruesome crime scene, the young man handed over a few papers to Grissom.

Taking the papers, Grissom nodded in response, looking them over quickly before he began to snap pictures, the bright light of the flash illuminating the dark street. The term 'laceration', though technically accurate, was an understatement. The woman's hips had been sliced into so deeply that some portions of skin were only hanging on by thin strips of tissue. Her chest and abdomen sported equally brutal slashes, and although they were deeper, they were far fewer in number. The face though, that was the worst. The woman's features were mostly a bloody pulp, although each cut seemed to be strategically placed in some cryptic pattern.

"No witnesses, no signs of car tracks or footprints. It's like the perp is a goddamn ghost." Brass shook his head in frustration, turning to Grissom. "You and Sanders the only ones on this one?"

At hearing the sound of his name, the former lab-tech looked up. "No, we paged Nick and Sara since they're back at the lab." Greg looked a little pale, but was managing to remain composed, keeping his voice even as he spoke to the detective.

"All right. So, Greg, what do you see?" Grissom looked over to the younger man from behind the lense of the camera.

"Well," Greg began, looking critically at the body and the surrounding area, "The blood spray is contained to this area, directly above the body." He pointed to the dark red splotches on the cream stucco of the alley wall. "So, the vic didn't move after the first blow was struck. Judging by the amount of blood, I'd say that the first blow was the killing blow, the slash to throat." Taking a deep breath, he continued, bending down to look closer at the woman's body. "No defensive wounds on her hands, so she probably didn't fight with her attacker. They probably snuck up on her from behind." He glanced at the wall again, then at the ground around him. "There's no spray from the lacerations on her chest or abdomen, so they were made Post-Mort. And, like Brass said, no tracks, no trail."

"That you can see.", Grissom added. "Good Greg, now, let's find the invisible." Putting the camera back up to his eye, he continued snapping pictures.

Beaming from the compliment, Greg nodded, opening up his kit and retrieved a brush and a jar of black powder. Carefully loading the brush and readying it to dust the nearby surfaces, the sound of another Tahoe pulling up was heard. Before the vehicle was even fully stopped, the door was flung open then slammed shut, the pounding of footsteps on the pavement soon echoing through the night.

"Don't touch her yet!", came an almost frantic cry. Charlie came running up, easily weaving her way through the police line without losing speed. Her stop came so sudden that Greg was sure he heard skidding. "I have a theory. Please tell me that nobody touched her." Voice having returned to normal, Charlie waited patiently for an answer, being careful to remain directly in front of the yellow police tape so as not to disturb the scene.

"I ... I only did a preliminary examination. I had to touch her, but I didn't move her from the original position, I swear!", the coroner stammered, obviously startled by the sudden outburst. "Honestly . . . wait . . . who are you?"

"Oh, this is Charlie. The criminologist from New Jersey?" Greg looked up, brush still poised in midair. "Charlie, David. David, Charlie."

"Mmm hmm." Panting slightly from her sprint, Charlie's eyes immediately locked onto the body, eyes scanning it with practiced ease. She fell silent, slowly and carefully making her way around the woman's corpse, cautiously sidestepping any possible evidence. It was then that Greg noticed that she was carrying a small pad of paper and a pen. Occasionally she'd break eye-contact with the corpse long enough to jot down a quick note or make a small sketch. The entire time, her lips moved ever-so-slightly creating a wordless monologue.

David looked over to Greg, "Did I, um, did I do something wrong?" He fiddled uncomfortably with his clipboard.

"Nah, this is how she is. I think." Greg grinned and shrugged, turning to the nearest surface to begin dusting for prints.

Grissom meanwhile had never paused in his diligent picture taking, paying close attention to throughly document the scene from every angle. He had expected Charlie to arrive with Sara and Nick, so her presence was no surprise. Out of the corner of his eye, he'd allowed himself to sneak a peek at the petite woman. But his attention was soon diverted as the two other CSI's came loping up.

"Hey, got the page." Sara ducked under the tape followed closely behind by Nick, surveying the scene as she made her way over to Grissom. "Same MO as the other three?"

"Looks that way." Grissom relayed all of the information that they had garnered from the scene and the body to Sara and Nick. The two others listened carefully, then opened their own kits and set to work gathering evidence and recording data.

"Hey, boss, sorry 'bout Charlie. She kinda jus' bolted before I even had a chance to put the Tahoe into park. That's actually the reason we got here so fast, I think she woulda grabbed the wheel from my hands if she weren't in the back." Nick shook his head, chuckling.

Shrugging, Grissom turned to Nick with his usual deadpan expression. "It's her job."

Without another word, the four CSI's meticulously worked on processing the scene. It was a good forty-five minutes before any of them spoke, the silence broken by Charlie.

"I was right." She took a slow step backwards, studying the body again. "She's positioned. I wasn't sure from the photos I looked at back at the lab, but seeing a victim here in person, I'm positive of it."

"But lividity is fixed, and this position is natural for a body that fell to the ground from a standing position. It doesn't even look like she was moved when the killer cut open her front." Sara frowned at the other woman, raising an eyebrow in doubt.

"Not the entire body. Just the head, the arms and the hands. Notice how the eyes are open and the face is looking downwards?" Charlie pointed her pen to the victim's head, "It's as though the killer wanted her to show shame. But do you see the way the palms on both hands fingers are facing upwards with the fingers slightly curled?" She pointed the pen again, "It's as though she's trying to grab for something. Something above her that she can't see because she's looking below her. The three other victims were positioned the same way. It's hard to tell because each woman landed differently and the killer didn't move the body itself." She tucked the pen neatly behind her right ear as she moved her gaze among the four CSI's. "It's symbolic."

"Of what?" Greg furrowed his brow, looking up from his work to stare at Charlie.

"Well, that's where the wound patterns come from. Once again, it's hard to see the pattern because each victim was laying differently and the killer had to alter the cuts to fit the position the woman was in. But they all exhibit the same basic pattern, also symbolic." Looking down at her notes, Charlie tapped each point as she spoke it. "The lacerations on the chest always intersect the breasts in some way. The lacerations on the lower abdomen tend to be in the vicinity of where the female reproductive organs are found. These slashes tend to be deeper, in one victim actually hitting her uterus. The hips are also targeted, although the cuts are more slicing, almost to the point of removing skin to make the hips narrower." Taking a soft breath, she continued, her eyes seeming to light up with each word she uttered. "The marks on the face were harder to place. You see, they're not as much cuts as they are disfigurements. The cheeks, nose, eyes, lips, essentially any portions of the face that contributes to feminine beauty are mutilated to remove attractiveness. Those mutilations varied greatly on each victim, because each woman had a different facial structure."

"He's trying to remove femininity." Sara sneered in disgust, rage boiling up in her eyes.

With a noncommittal blink, Charlie turned to look at Grissom. "Doctor Grissom, would you like me to continue with my assessment?" Upon receiving a nod of consent, she spoke once more, her voice holding a certain fire that had been absent until she arrived on the scene. "The killer strikes from behind. At first, it might seem that one would choose such an attack because it's easier, especially if you're physically weaker than your victim. However, the depth and the severity of the lacerations show that the attacker has suitable strength to overpower a victim. Factoring in the facial mutilations, I believe that the attacks are being made from behind because the killer doesn't want to look at the victim's face. It's not due to cowardice or remorse however, more out of loathing and disgust. With many serial murders, you see a distinct escalation of violence as the killing progresses. But, as gruesome as these cases are, the violence has remained equal in all four murders. These are carefully thought-out, almost done in a systematic way. Similar to a fugu-like reaction. Something must have happened to trigger the first killing, and each time the event has occurred since then, another murder is committed. However, these were planned long before the killer actually acted upon their psychotic urges."

"So our killer is, in effect, trying to destroy the entity of femininity? Interesting. I've heard of trying to destroy an aspect, but never an entity as a whole." Grissom turned to look at Charlie intently. "Good work."

"Yeah, but what does he look like? I mean, now we know how he thinks, but that doesn't help us when we still have no evidence." Sara crossed her arms over her chest, obviously becoming more frustrated and impatient with every passing moment.

"Not to fear, Greg is here!" The former lab-tech grinned, holding up his tweezers. Between them was a single hair. "Now, while this hair is blond, like our vic, it's straight, unlike our vic. And since it was the only hair nearby and out of range of where our vic fell, it could be from our mystery suspect. Kinda long for a man though."

"Wow Greggo. I'm impressed. We might make a CSI outta ya yet!" Nick grinned at Greg, walking carefully over to examine the hair for himself before it was bagged. "Now, go send that to yourself to analyze." He chuckled at his own joke, while Greg only rolled his eyes.

"That, my dear Nick, is now Mia's job." Greg gave a nod of satisfaction, carefully placing the hair into the proper plastic bag.

Seeming to be unfazed by the light banter around her, Charlie shook her head. "I can see why you'd assume that the killer is female. The angle of the slits in the throats of the three autopsied victims would place their murderer at about 5'8", a little below average for a man. Also, the upper-body strength needed to slice though human flesh so deeply with one stroke would be indicative of a male." She turned, eyes looking over the entire team with an impassioned and steady gaze. "But you're wrong. Your murderer is female."

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A/N:_ The plot thickens. Sorry if the combination of casefile and romance is a bit aggravating if you were specifically looking for one or the other. Next chapter should add to the more personal plots better. To **Monika** and **thehoodedsweatshirt**: don't worry, Charlie will have a chance to "talk" to both Grissom and Greg at least once before the case is over._


	4. More Sweet Soul

**Title**: Manufactured Catalyst

**Author**: FatesFolly

**Summary**: When a complicated case forces the CSI team to call in a criminalist with a speciality in criminal psychology, this stranger uncovers just as much about the team as the crime and forces them to re-evaluate relationships. (Casefile with eventual romance.)

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing (aside from Charlie and this plot). I just innocently borrow with good intent to return physically unharmed. (Mentally unharmed I can't guarantee.)

**A/N**: Since this plot is a bit AU, I'm going to say that it takes place between "What's Eating Gilbert Grissom" and "Formalities", leaving the team still together, Greg still needing to pass his final proficiency and Grissom's "guys who got away but I eventually caught" tally at two for two.

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**Chapter 4 - More Sweet Soul**

"So, we're looking for a blond female about 5'8" in height? Shouldn't be hard to find here in Vegas, land of the blond and leggy showgirls." Sara rolled her eyes, heaving a frustrated sigh as she walked down the halls on her way to the lab.

"Actually, if the hair is natural and not dyed, that narrows it down a lot. Trust me, I know." Catherine offered a comforting smile to the younger woman, trying to lighten the mood.

"Even if it is natural, there was no skin tag, so how useful is it going to be?" Sara continued to scowl angrily, jaw clenched tight.

"Hey, Sara, chill. It's not like you to be this negative about a case." Catherine paused, a look of concern crossing her face. "Is something else bothering you?"

"It's this CASE that's bothering me!" Sara stopping in her tracks, turning around to face the other woman. "I mean, this pig is running around butchering women and we're clueless as to how to stop him! We have millions of dollars in equipment and absolutely no clue where to turn next. All we can do is sit here and wait for him to kill again. I just feel so . . . "

"Utterly superfluous?" Grissom walked up behind Sara, raising an eyebrow quizzically. "There is no perfect crime and no flawless criminal. We are all somehow defective by nature, and it's our job to uncover the mistakes criminals make due to human error." He adjusted his glasses so that they sat a little higher on the bridge of his nose, "Oh, and remember, our killer is a 'her'."

"Says who? Charlie Kennard? What's she going on, just some hints that she found in the files? OUR files. She hasn't even BEEN here for this entire case.", Sara fumed.

"Well, it's her job." Grissom shrugged and walked away toward his office.

"If it makes you feel any better Sara, I see it the same way you do. It was our case first, and I trust the evidence, not just theories and hunches." Catherine sighed softly as she walked into the lab, only to find Greg already there. "Greg, what are you doing here? I thought that you were only doing fieldwork now?"

"Well, you can take the rat out of the lab, but you can't take the lab out of the rat." Greg grinned cheekily, holding a few computer printouts.

"So all of these chemicals do stay in your bloodstream. Good to know." Catherine smiled at Greg, eyeing the papers. "So whatcha got there."

"Well, there may not have been a skin tag, but there was some evidence in that hair found by yours truly." Handing the paper over to Catherine, Greg was obviously trying his best not to gloat. "Remember that hair stores all of the chemicals ingested by the body. And, luckily, the owner of this hair was a natural towhead."

"Unlike you?" Gesturing to Greg's blond highlights, Catherine smirked. Looking down at the paper, her expression turned serious once more. "Klonopine? What exactly is that?" She furrowed her brow as she read the results.

"It's an anti anxiety drug. Pretty potent too." Sara pushed her hair behind her ears, looking at the paper over Catherine's shoulder.

"Indeed it is. Somebody's been studying up on drugs for head-cases." Greg turned to look at Sara, expecting at least a small smile for the compliment, but getting a different response.

"Anxiety doesn't make you a head-case Greg." Sara snapped, narrowing her eyes.

"No offense Sara . . . I just meant that you knew what you were talking about." Greg winced visibly, "I mean, what I was trying to say is . . . You're smart and sexy?" Grinning apologetically, he searched for any signs of avoiding his co-worker's wrath.

"I'm sorry Greg. This case is just getting to me." Sara shook her head, trying to clear it. "Anyway, what were you saying?"

Letting out a small sigh of relief, Greg tentatively continued. "It's like this: Klonopine is a controlled substance, and as such, only a select few drugstores stock it and fill prescriptions for it. So, you might be able to track our lady killer, no pun intended, using that." Nodding in satisfaction, he grinned again.

"All right, you know what, I'm going to go look those up now. Good work Greg." Catherine flashed a smile to the young man, walking out of the lab.

"And I still have evidence to process from the case me and Nick were working on before the last 'ripper' murder." Crossing her arms over her chest, Sara waited until Catherine was out of sight before leaving the lab as well.

"And I'll, uh, just sit here." Greg said to himself, sitting down in a chair and spinning around in it a few times. The chair stopped its revolution facing away from the door, which was why Greg nearly jumped out of his chair when he heard the soft clearing of a throat behind him. Spinning back around as he nearly leapt out of the chair, he straightened slightly, "I'm getting right on it Griss . . . Oh, hey Charlie."

Greg didn't really know much about the new criminalist, other than the fact that she was always there when he got into work at night, and was still working when he left in the morning. From what he'd heard from some of the friendlier members of the Day-Shift, few of them that there were, she always seemed to be there when their shifts began and ended too. Now, Greg had seen some obsessive behavior from his fellow CSI's in the past (it still felt weird to be able to say 'fellow CSI's'), but Charlie's dedication was past obsessive. It was bordering on Grissom. Yet, somehow, she still managed to have a new an interesting outfit each day. "So, what brings you into my former humble abode?"

Ignoring the question in her usual blasé manner, Charlie stared curiously at Greg for a moment. "What made you want to go into the field?"

"Well, this room can get pretty small after a while. And while I was planning on using it to jumpstart my career as a world renowned chemist by discovering a new element and winning a Nobel Prize, I suppose that it can wait until after I retire." Greg grinned, pushing the chair back into place.

"Delusions of grandeur, even when discussed jokingly, are highly overrated. And to answer your question, I heard that there was some toxicology information on the hair you located on the scene." Charlie blinked slowly, glancing toward the empty printer tray.

Choosing to take a page from Charlie's book, Greg ignored her thinly veiled insult and focused instead on the case. "Indeed there were. I just handed them over to Catherine. Apparently, the owner of the hair was taking . . . "

"Klonopine. I know." Charlie threw Greg a look that blatantly stated, 'Of course I know.'

Raising a brow in surprise, Greg looked down at his pager. "Did someone page you?"

"No. I have ears. My office is only three doors away." Looking Greg up and down with a sweeping gaze, Charlie frowned slightly. "What happened to scare you out of here?"

"Nothing scared me out. Like I said, it's a small room with small walls. It's only so long before you begin to feel like a fish in a bowl, just swimming in little circles as you titrate." Grin still plastered into place. Greg's voice had become slightly detached, his eyes darting quickly to stare determinedly out the window.

"Mmm Hmm. Then why have your hands been shaking for the last . . . ", Charlie paused to look down at her watch, "Thirty-four seconds? Your posture has also changed, your shoulders slumping slightly and your focus becoming detached so as to remove yourself from being mentally present in this space. So, what scared you?"

Heaving a sigh, Greg laughed nervously, "There's not getting anything past you, huh? There was an explosion. Some chemicals were left too close to a fume hood and, well, ka-boom." He added hand gestures to emphasize the experience. "But I was ready to be released back into the wild before that."

"Do you always diffuse every situation with humor? While I'll admit that it's amusing, almost bordering on charming at first, the general sense that it gives to a conversation is a distinct inability for you to be approached with a serious subject." Giving Greg a bemused look, Charlie waited patiently for an answer.

"So, then, you find me charming?" Raising his eyebrows and slapping on a mock-hopeful expression, Greg leaned a hand on the chair.

"I believe my point is made. Now, if I can just have a copy of the toxicology report from the hair, I'll be going back to my office." Tucking her hands patiently into the pockets of her navy blue pinstriped blazer, Charlie looked at the chair for a minute before adding, "And you might not want to rest all of your weight on a rolling object placed on a surface such a tile floor which provides little friction."

"Hey, I know physics. And I do this all the . . . Woah!" Greg managed to catch himself as the chair rolled from under his grasp, throwing off his center of balance. Straightening himself as a slight blush rose on his cheeks, Greg muttered, "And don't say . . . "

"Told you." Charlie's voice remained even, though her eyes held a slight glimmer of superiority.

Turning to the computer, Greg shakily typed in the order to print out another copy of the report. "Yeah, that." As he waited for the commands to process, he turned back around, still trying to force normal conversation. " So, what made you go into criminology rather than sitting in an office charging people 100 an hour to chat about their problems?"

"I was never interested in being part of a phone sex chat line." Charlie smirked, eyes still glued on the man in front of her. "So if you don't work in the lab anymore, who's suppose to be in here?"

"I knew you had a sense of humor! See, doesn't that feel good?" Greg's infectious grin returned to his face, lighting up his features. "And Mia is supposed to be in here, but she's out to lunch. Well, not out, probably in the break room sanitizing her sandwich. Speaking of which, when do you eat?"

"That's not humor, that's truth that holds comedic value. Why are my eating habits of concern to you anyway?" Charlie collected the papers neatly as the printer spat them out.

"Well, it's just that nobody's ever seen you eat." Greg looked down sheepishly, "It's the same principle as students wondering where their teachers go in the summer."

"Mmm hmm. Well, I suppose that I can take comfort in the fact that people around here are attentive to details. Although I wouldn't expect any less from the number two crime-lab in the country. And if it's of such importance to you, I eat while I work. It's more efficient." Breaking her steady gaze away from Greg, Charlie looked down at the paper, nodding slowly as she read the information.

Sensing the hawk-like stare of his fellow criminalist peeling away from him, Greg exhaled softly. "You know, interacting with people is good for your mental health. There's a great diner near here where some of us got for breakfast after the shift is over . . . "

"I don't eat breakfast food." Her eyes never leaving the papers in her hands as she spoke, Charlie's voice was firm.

"Let me guess. You don't like expectorant? Weird food allergy? Germaphobic? I've heard them all.", Greg stated, giving an almost proud nod of his head.

"I just don't eat breakfast food. I don't like it. Simple." Glancing up as she turned a paper over, Charlie took a pen out from behind her ear and began to scribble notes in the margins of the page.

"Okay, what about something else then? Burgers?" Giving Charlie a hopeful smile, Greg turned his head to try and see what she was writing. "When will you be done your shift anyway? That's another thing that nobody's ever seen . . . "

"Well, after I finish adding these results into my current profile, and I compare the photos from the most recent scene to the previous three, I only need to see the murderer officially convicted and I'll be done." Adding another note to the paper, Charlie punctuated her sentence by crossing a 't' with a flourish.

"Well, nobody can ever complain about your work ethic . . . " Greg began, only to be cut off.

"Nobody ever has. You tend to make an extraordinary production out of simple exchanges of information. But then I'm sure that fact has been expressed to you in the past. So who are you trying to impress?" Tapping the pen against her chin, Charlie looked at Greg once more, tilting her head to the side slightly.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Greg fiddled with a nearby microscope. "If I say girls, will you accept that as an answer?" He threw Charlie the most charming smile he could muster.

"No. But I don't have time to push the issue. Especially since I doubt you know yourself. Not yet anyway." Tucking the pen behind her ear again, Charlie shuffled the papers in her hands and headed toward the door with confident strides. "And if you want to eat breakfast with someone, ask Warrick or Nick."

"Why them? Why not Sara or Catherine? Or . . . well, not Grissom." Greg raised an eyebrow, catching sight of a blank whiteboard. He smiled, softly laughing to himself. "You know, there is one thing I miss about working in here. I use to play 'Name That Chemical Compound with the others, especially Nick. See, what I'd do is . . . "

"That's nice.", Charlie interrupted dryly, pausing mid-stride but not actually turning around. "And to summarize, Catherine's maternal instincts outweigh her desire for socialization in the end. Grissom is socially inept and emotionally constipated. Sara is, well, I don't have the extra time for that one. Speaking of time, I'm about six hours and fifty-two minutes behind where I'd like to be. I wasn't expecting to be going out into the field tonight." Without another word, the slender redhead continued to make her way out of the lab and toward the makeshift office.

When she was almost out of sight, Greg sighed, pulling the chair back out and sitting down. "I do not diffuse every situation with humor.", he stated to the whiteboard. The phone ringing cut into his monologue, causing him to once more jump out of the chair. Smoothly picking up the receiver and putting it to his ear, he answered with a confident, "Las Vegas . . . "

"You do. Diffuse every situation with humor that is. Or, at least, you do from everything I've heard and seen.", came the even, almost monotonous reply from the other end of the line.

"Charlie!" Greg stepped back, almost fumbling with the receiver. "How did you? ... "

"I already stated that my office is only three doors away. And you were standing right next to the wall when you made your proclamation. I was simply pointing out the flaw in your statement."

Before Greg could speak a word in his defense, there was an audible click as the other end of the line was hung up. Biting back the urge to be childish and yell out a witty retort, he settled on placing the phone back into its cradle and silently mouthing, 'How did she do that?'. Shaking his head slowly, he almost winced as he heard footsteps announcing someone else's arrival into the lab. Half expecting it to be Charlie, Greg looked up.

"I got a hit on a pharmacy and Grissom wants us to check it out. Brass is going to meet us there with a warrant for their records." Catherine crossed her arms over her chest, eyeing Greg with a worried expression. "Something wrong Greg?"

"No. At least nothing that I know about. I think." Grinning optimistically, Greg pointed to the door. "Let's hit the road. Hey, can I drive?"

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A/N: _Sorry this chapter took so long, I caught the flu. I don't recommend it to anyone. I hope that this was worth the wait. Thank you for all of your comments, they make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. To **Saeo** - I know who the romance is going to be between, but I don't want to state it yet since 1) Some people might stop reading and 2) My muse might lead me down a different path._


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